


Like Father like Son

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Series: Red Dead Imagines [5]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Child, F/M, John is an idiot, Past Romance, a man’s folly, arthur morgan deserves better, but he’s bad with families, single mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: This was a situation straight out of a nightmare. She watched in shock as the man turned halfway at the sound of the excited child's voice, watched as his lazy blue eyes tracked the little blond haired, lazy blue eyed child as he dashed across the wooden planks.Arthur Morgan froze in shock, and then his eyes widened in recognition as he kept following the child's trail until they landed on the mother. She watched as he mouthed her name, and her hand settled on the boy's head reflexively, tucking him against her skirts as the outlaw stalked over.





	1. A Mighty Fine Horse

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this because clearly, I wanted to curl up and cry while writing something. It's pathetic how many tissues I went through.
> 
> Also I'm sorry I wasn't in the mood for writing you yours so instead I cheated and used third person no names so kinda reader kinda counts. (Long inhale after run on sentence)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur meets Henry

Rhodes had the potential to be a beautiful town, she thought as she gazed out the window and saw the station up ahead. The town had the benefit of rolling green hills and antique homes that boasted a hundred years or more standing. The families were old and blue blooded, and the very air should have been ladled with generosity and contentment.

As it was though, a curse hung over the town, brought about by the war and hate of fellow man, left to stew and simmer in the bones of the men and the bosoms of the womenfolk. Thank god they were only passing through, not stopping longer than it took to restock the coal.

The flipping of pages reached her ears, causing the young woman to turn her head with a smile. The little boy across from her was doodling in a little journal, the pencil scribbling as he filled the pages with animals and imaginary friends.

"What cha drawing, honey?" She leaned forward as the train started slowing, and the little boy turned the page towards her for inspection.

"It's a horse, momma."

"And what a fine horse it is." She graced him with a smile. The whistle blew, signaling the train had come to a full stop, and a conductor strolled down the aisle, his booming voice proclaiming that they would be stooped for fifteen minutes before continuing on.

"Say, would you like to get somethin to eat?"

The little boy nodded, and took her hand as they disembarked. The air felt more like soup than anything suitable for breathing, and the young mother wiped a brow across her face, pushing back her dark curls as she looked for a merchant. Usually you could find one or two situated at the station.

"Momma, look! It's a baker." A small hand fisted in her skirt, tugging until she turned and confirmed his find.

"Why, yes it is." She pulled out a dollar from her small purse. "Go get us something sweet, honey, and then meet me back here, ok?" She'd find real food while he did that.

The little boy nodded and scampered off, the bill clutched in his little hand.

She smiled unconsciously at the only blessing in her life, and then turned around and froze. The smile slid off her face.

The one man she dreaded ever seeing again stood across the station, his back facing her. Oh, but she'd know that head of golden hair anywhere, attached to broad shoulders, towering over everyone else. A flicker of her eyes downwards confirmed her suspicions, the black beat up hat in his hand a relic straight from her memories.

A smile, a warm drawl. Warm skin against her cheek.

She shook away the cobwebs, and stood there, indecisive. She wanted to run, her fingers twisted together, heart beating a mile a minute. And yet a small part of herself wanted to see his face, make sure it really was him she was running from.

"Momma!"

This was a situation straight out of a nightmare. She watched in shock as the man turned halfway at the sound of the excited child's voice, watched as his lazy blue eyes tracked the little blond haired, lazy blue eyed child as he dashed across the wooden planks.

Arthur Morgan froze in shock, and then his eyes widened in recognition as he kept following the child's trail until they landed on the mother. She watched as he mouthed her name, and her hand settled on the boy's head reflexively, tucking him against her skirts as the outlaw stalked over.

He stopped a few feet away, eyes locked on her pale face. After a moment, they flickered down to where the boy glanced up at the towering figure curiously, before reverting back.

"What are you doin here?" His drawl was just as warm as she remembered, and her knees went weak at the feeling being in his presence again conjured up.

"Hello, Arthur." She spoke softly, hoping to hide the way her voice shook. "We're... That is... We're going East."

"East," he grunted, taking a step forward. "Your dad is letting you travel?" His eyes flickered to he boy again, and she could see the question lurking in his eyes, the one he was working himself up to asking.

"Daddy's dead." His eyes snapped back up.

"Oh... I'm sorry." His hand reached out as if he would touch her elbow, and then drew back, letting it hang in the air for a moment before returning to his side. "So, you sold the farm, then."

"No, my cousin took it."

"Why-"

A look cut him off, one born of years of waiting, pining, and then cold acceptance. Instead of answering, she smoothed her hand over the little boy's hair.

"And who's this... strapping young gentlemen?" She could see the pain lurking in his eyes, behind the glimmer of curiosity, and though she once thought it would bring satisfaction to one day tell him of his folly, during the long nights when her body changed and her heart grew cold, now she realized this would only bring more pain, to both of them.

"This is Henry,"she whispered, prompting the child to say hello with a toothy grin.

"Hi, I'm Henry." The little chirp was accompanied with a wave.

"Hello, Henry. I'm Arthur." Her bottom lip quivered as Henry smiled up at the older reflection. He hunkered down on one knee, causing Henry to shy backwards before he decided he liked him. The child then promptly brought out his journal. "Wanna see the horse I drew."

She went red with embarrassment, remembering belatedly the journal that Arthur would always draw in. The echo was too sharp to miss all of the sudden.

Arthur's eyes showed surprise for all of a heartbeat. "Shoah." When the horse was proffered before him, he nodded and gave praise, "That is a mighty fine horse."

"That's what momma said," Henry informed him. The little boy did something then that shocked both mother and Arthur. He placed a hand above the horse and carefully ripped out the page. "Here, you have this one. I'll make momma another."

She quickly looked away when Arthur's large hand closed over the edge of the drawing, so contrasted next to the slender digits of the child. It wasn't fair, wasn't right, and she silently cursed fate that this meeting didn't happen years ago when the small cry of a babe entered the world. Then her fingers clenched into a ball, unable to curse the man as well when he was real and tangible before her, and hating herself for it.

"He looks like his daddy." She added quickly, keeping her eyes down when she felt Arthur's gaze on her again. He murmured her name, and she saw his hand reaching for her again as he stood, when Henry's chirp of a voice caused it to freeze.

"Momma says that makes me handsome." And he nodded with all the grace and sage wisdom of an eight year old, as if her saying it made it canon law.

"I'm sure yous gonna grow up right fine." His hands were balled into fists, she could see it out of the corner of her eye, and at that moment her mouth opened, and she feared all manor of embarrassing thoughts would tumble out unbidden. Every single little thing she had ever thought in the small hours of the night when she missed him the most, missed his strength and comfort, missed the easy affection.

Thankfully though, she had no sooner inhaled then the train whistle blow again, and her eyes darted upwards, mouth still slightly open to see Arthur's expression mirroring her own. After a moment, he held out his hand, palm up, and her eyes slid close for a moment when her smooth palm brushed against the calluses lining his fingers.

He escorted them to the edge of the platform, even helping Henry up the step when the boy's small legs couldn't make the jump. She watched the tremble in his hand as he released her own, his gaze flickering between their two figures as if he was memorizing them.

"If you need anything, anything at all, write to Tacitus Kilgore."

She blinked, comfused at the extension, and felt a little bitter that it took eight years to get even this nugget of information out of him. Too little, too late.

It must have shown on her face, because his own turned pale with guilt. What monsters would haunt him now, she idly wondered if they would be the same as hers.

"Goodbye, Arthur."

"Bye!" Henry called out as the train began to move, leaning against the railing to wave frantically, and Arthur followed to the edge of the platform, his hand raised as he stared after them with a look of equal parts hunger and pain. He had the childish drawing of the horse trapped between his hand and his thigh so the wind from the train couldn't tear at it, and it was that tiny detail that brought her low.

The young mother stayed standing there until he was out of sight, the man that she had love, held, called her own for two short months, and then missed the rest of her life. As soon as his familiar figure faded into a speck on the platform, her head hung low, and she cried.


	2. Crosses and Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! I'm back to cry some more!

John couldn't believe work had landed him back in the pretentious and hateful town of Rhodes. He had never thought he would be so unlucky to end up here again, even if he was chasing after a bounty. Sadie had left for Valentine already, but he had decided to catch a train back to Blackwater instead of pushing Rachel though the long ride again. Well, Rachel and his backside.

He sat on a bench, waving away the bugs that gathered in the sticky air with his hat, and pulled out a cigarette, idly flipping the card that came with it between his fingers as he waited for people and animals to disembark from the carriages and stock car.

Blowing out the smoke, his ears caught a brassy drawl that sounded familiar, too young and slightly higher pitched, but it conjured up a ghost that never really found rest in John's head. Turning his gaze, he forgot about the cigarette that was trailing ash on his new vest as his watched a young feller disembarked, hand out as he helped a elderly lady down. He tipped his hat to her, smiled as she walked off, and started walking for the door next to John.

It was as if time stopped. John had met Arthur Morgan when the man was twenty two, and now he was staring at a mirror of fifteen, if the years had been kinder too him. No scar on his chin, no broken nose, just a wholesome smile and bright, lazy blue eyes.

"Friend." John jumped like a cat whose tail had been trod on when those eyes met his right before he pushed into the door, hat tipping in hello as he shouldered inside the building.

Great John, stare at the poor kid. He ground the cigarette out under his boot, and followed him inside. His eyes immediately went to the ticket booth, where the kid was standing, talking with the clerk. He had a folded piece of paper in his hand, and John was flabbergasted when Alden pointed over the man's shoulder, back towards John.

The youth turned, lazy eyes once again pinning John, and when he walked closer this time John distinctly heard the first words Arthur Morgan had ever said to him ringing loud in his ears. _Kid don't look like much._ Course Arthur had tacked on: _more like a sodden rat than anything else._

This kid didn't look anything like a sodden animal, but John could see the very bones that he would grow into. Give him a couple of years, and he'd be looking eye to eye with him instead of down his nose.

Certainly looked like he was eatin better than they ever did, limbs were long and lanky like a calf, just growing into the muscle of a man. His traveling clothes were dusty, but of good make. By the time he stopped in front of John, the latter was dismayed to discover he was just the type of mark he used to rob.

"Howdy, friend."

Jesus Christ, he just said howdy. John shut his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Can I help you, son?"

"Clerk said I should speak to you, said you might be able to help me." The drawl was almost the same, unhurried, but without quite the same laziness with vowels.

John gestured, leading him back outside. "You got a name, kid?" He raised his hat and sat back down on his bench, motioning to the seat beside him.

"Henry Bel-" he cut himself off, taking off a beat up brown hat and fingering the brim as he sat. "Well, I guess it's Henry Morgan." Those blue eyes dipped down in embarrassment.

"John," he returned, his heart leaping at his surname. "You guess? You don't know?"

"Only found out a week ago." He held out the folder paper. "My ma said she'd tell me my pa's name when I turned eighteen, but... well... she passed last winter. I found this in her dowry box." He fingered the paper. "Says I met him once, in this town nine years ago. So I've come to find him."

And just like that it sank. This kid was here for a ghost.

Henry smiled, the edges wistful as he chuckled, "you know my ma used to say that people would just look at me and be able to tell if they knew him."

"She was right, you look just like him." He pulled out another cigarette, feeling the kid's eyes, but unable to look directly at them anymore.

"So you know him?"

John exhaled, leaning back against the rough wood of the station. "Arthur Morgan was my brother."

The way the young body next to him froze was almost comical, and John waited for him to draw his own conclusions.

"You're my uncle?"

"Just about." He'd stretch the truth. This wasn't exactly the place to tell the kid exactly what his father's profession was.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I'm sorry, son. He's dead."

John was shit at this, and he was sure Abigail would have cuffed him over the head with how he delivered the news. The kid's face damn near broke, and he was fascinated to see the play of emotions run across its surface, so unlike the taciturn expression Arthur always wore.

They sat there in silence, John unable to find words and Henry mourning a father he never knew. Taking a deep breath, he finally stood, back to John. "Well, that's that, I guess. You know where he's buried, mister?" He damn neared put his hat on the same way Arthur did when he was angry.  
  
John was already beating himself up, but he didn't let the chance at a peace offering slide by. "Listen, Henry. I'll take you there." The young man blinked at him. "But then you gotta come with me, meet some more people that knew him. Crosses and Graves don't hold memories, but I got photos and stories." An idea occurred. "What's more, I got some of Arthur's old things. He'd want you to have them."

Henry's fingers drummed against his side, and again John compared it to how Arthur used to drum his against his belt buckle. Finally, his head nodded. "Okay."

John was quick to stand, "you got a horse?"

Lazy smile was small, but there. Give him time, John. "Sure do," he pointed, and John was torn from being surprised that he hadn't said 'Shoah' like he expected. "Old Tacitus."

John barked out a laugh as he saw an old grey gelding next to Rachel. When Henry looked funny at him, he waved it away.

"C'mon, son," he swung up in the saddle, muscles complaining. "We gotta go see your old man." He shook his head. "Damn, Morgan, got a kid."

And they rode out of town, headed for a grave on a mountainside, facing west where Arthur could see the sunset and remember all the grand adventures they had. John thought it was good to have something of Arthur back in this world after all this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Taa-Daa!!! I'm not crying, you're crying.


End file.
